


Finding Smallness

by setphasersto_potatosalad



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Non-Sexual Age Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2019-10-17 12:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17560076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setphasersto_potatosalad/pseuds/setphasersto_potatosalad
Summary: James has been denying his status as a Little. MI6 makes him see a service. He finds Q is his assigned caregiver. He's displeased.





	1. Beginning

“Name?”

James cleared his throat. “Bond. It ought to be under James Bond.”

“Alright, sir. The information I have here says this is your first visit?”

He pursed his lips. “Yes. And hopefully the last.”

The receptionist kept a cheery smile. James fought the urge to slap it off her. “Well here’s a bit of paperwork for you. Just some preferences. Take your time filling it out. Give it back when you’re done, and we’ll have someone matched up with you shortly after.”

James took the clipboard with a terse smile and sat. At first glance, you wouldn’t expect the office to be any different than any other waiting room. Chairs that aren’t too comfortable but not painful, perfectly neutral decoration.

 _Harold and Thompson’s Small Courtesies_ could have been passed on the street without a second glance. Maybe a catering company, maybe for a wedding planner. It didn’t matter, just so long as it fit in. It was the only Little enrichment service James approved from MI6’s list. He kept his little secret- pun unintended- under wraps for nearly twenty years. When M discovered he hadn’t _indulged_ in more than ten, he nearly had a fit. He was permanently grounded until he visited a service and still subject to suspension.

The paperwork mocked him. Some was already filled out for him. He suspected M’s doing.

 _Preferred age?_ _Three to six._

 _Treats?_ _Juice._

 _Punishments?_ was left woefully empty. James smirked to himself. _Paperwork_.

When he finished, the receptionist took the clipboard with a smile that looked like she thought it was comforting.

And James waited. He’d gone through plenty of torture simulations. This was just one of them. It wouldn’t be anymore than a few hours and he’d done much worse in much more time. He sighed, clasped his hands together and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. Even that was careful about seeming adult.

“James?” A familiar voice called not five minutes after. James perked and stood, flattening his suit. He was focusing on looking suave when he caught whose voice that was. He was aware that most enrichment services took volunteers, but _this_?

“James, it’s alright,” Q soothed. He offered a smile and offered his hand. “Just follow me.”

James barely suppressed a sneer. He looked down at Q’s hand and back to him like he’d just offered him a heaping pile of shit. “I’m sure this is a conflict of interest.”

“Last I checked, it wasn’t. What I do and where I do on my own time is of no interest to our employer. Even if you _are_ here on referral. But we can talk about this later. Follow me, please.”

Rather than take Q’s wrist and turn it until something snapped, James followed. Q led him into a small room. It was less carefully pictured than the other- dimly lit, less neutrally colored and closer to pastels. One chair was more adult. The other was a bean bag. A table at the level of the bean bag separated the two chairs. His grimace deepened. James gravitated towards the chair and Q tutted.

“James, it will be more difficult for you to drop if you sit there. I really recommend you sit elsewhere. You can sit on the floor or on the bag while we discuss what you’ve written.”

“Then I’ll stand.”

“There’s no need to be difficult.”

James took one step forward and took full advantage of the height and weight he had on Q. He looked down at him and rose an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to argue with a man who can snap you in half?”

Q was nonplussed. “I’m not talking to a man who can snap me in half,” he said smoothly, “I’m talking to a neglected little boy. Please. Sit. This is the last time I’m going to ask.”

James scoffed. “And what are you going to do about it?”

“Hold out your hand.”

“No.”

“You asked me what I was going to do. Hold out your hand.”

James did. Q gave him a pen. He knelt at the table and grabbed blank paper. He passed them to James. “You’re going to write lines. Write ‘I will listen’ fifty times.”

James scoffed and shook his head. “This is ridiculous.”

“And you’re acting ridiculously. Write. I’ll wait outside. Misbehave and you’ll be writing more lines. You can let me know when you need me.” And he left.

 _When_ you need me. When. Like James needed anyone in the world other than himself. He didn’t need anything to do with any service and he certainly didn’t need a caregiver. He had saved the world seventy times over and the universe had the audacity to think _he_ needed to be taken care of?

This wasn’t how things normally went if James refused service. Normally they would leave him be, give work whatever the hell they wanted, and that would be that. But Q was not so daft. And if Q just so happened to be the one taking care of him, he would report every moment of this to M.

Rage burst through his carefully constructed dam. James kicked the table with a shout and it thunked onto its side. The bean bag went flying into the wall. James moved on from that when it did an unsatisfying amount of damage. The papers were ripped and ripped and ripped until they were nothing but strips. He took the chair over his head and threw it downwards. It bounced. The wood chipped, revealing metal beneath it.

James screamed.

He stabbed the beanbag with the pen over and over and over and _over_ , each stab delivered with a grunt or a curse to the program.

It had to have been fifty stabs in when he tired. He laid out on his victim, belly up. The ceiling was speckled with plastic glow in the dark stars. James ineffectually threw the pen at the largest as he caught his breath. It landed to the ground with an unimpressive _click_.

He scrubbed his hands down his face. This was a nightmare. An absolute bloody nightmare. He should have taken Silva’s offer when he had a chance. Silva wouldn’t have done this to him. Tears pricked in his eyes and he scrubbed them away indignantly. It wasn’t _fair_. He had a job to do. He didn’t need to be wasting his time. He could have been in Zimbabwe killing off warlords or wining and dining whoever came his way.

James rose from the beanbag to grab the pen only to throw it all over again. It hit the wall with an unappealing _tip_. He sniffled.

It wasn’t fair.

He put the chair back where he found it and nudged the table back into place. He sat in front of the bloody thing and situated the beanbag so he could lean back on it. What remained of the papers were stacked as neatly as he could on the table. He stared at the blank shreds. He opened the table drawer to find more pens. He chewed on the end of the newest-looking one.

Another sniffle.

There was a knock on the door and James turned like he’d just heard a gunshot. “Can I come in?” came Q’s gentle tone.

James glared at the door. “No.”

He entered anyways. “James,” Q started, “do you want to tell me what happened while I was outside?”

“No.” James’ glare migrated to the papers.

Q couldn’t help the smile. He knelt beside him and offered him fresh, whole blank papers from his clipboard. “How about I tell you what I think happened?” James was silent. “I think you had a bit of a tantrum. Because you’re scared.”

“Not scared.”

“Let me finish, James. I think you’re scared because it’s _different_. And it’s exposing. You can’t be 007 here. You have to be James. Being a little boy instead of a master spy is a little scary, isn’t it? Mm?” James said nothing. Q sighed. “Normally, I would double a punishment for throwing a tantrum. But you appear at least slightly reticent. You did put things back. So you’re going to write 25 more lines. That makes 75. ‘I will listen,’ 75 times. I’ll get rid of these papers and you can get to writing.”

As Q gathered the shreds, James felt his bottom lip begin to tremble. Something tugged in his gut. He rubbed his eyes furiously, but the tears came without mercy. He tried to be silent, but a shuddering breath broke through his defenses. Q dropped the paper. He put his hand on James’ back.

“Do you want to talk?”

His voice was gentle, so bloody _gentle_ like he’d crack if anything firmer than a whisper came out of his mouth. He didn’t deserve any of this. He deserved to stay out in the field, to do what he loved and to be rid of this inconvenience.

“ _No_.”

God, he sounded like a child. A fucking child. He wasn’t a child, he was nearly fifty. He’d killed more men in his career than some small wars. He was anything but a _child_. A tear dropped on the fresh paper. James clumsily tried to wipe it away, but all that did was spread the water. He shouted wordlessly as he threw the paper to the side.

Q picked up the paper and set it back in front of James. He put a pen in his hands. “Since this is your first time, I’ll let us talk while you write. Alright? Calm down, James. It’s alright. You’re safe here, darling.”

“I’m nobody’s _darling_ ,” he muttered bitterly.

He scribbled _I won’t listen to stupid idiots_.

Q rose an eyebrow. He took the offending paper and folded it and put it into his pocket. “If you’re trying to be mature, that isn’t the correct approach to take. Prove to me that you’re big. 75 times, _I will listen_. Go on.”

James screwed his face up into a frown and threw the pen on the floor. He crossed his arms as his frown morphed into a pout. Q, to his credit, stayed patient.

“Alright. Now we’re up to 100 times. Pick up the pen, James.”

“Don’t want to.”

“I didn’t ask if you wanted to, I told you to pick up the pen. Now, please.”

James retrieved the pen, but not before considering throwing it right between his Quartermaster’s eyes. He decided against it- it wasn’t heavy enough to do enough damage, anyways. He chewed on the end of the pen and glanced up at Q. Neither of them made any move. James looked back down at the blank paper.  100 was a very large number, even for a very short sentence.

“Go on, James. It won’t get any smaller by you staring at it.”

James glared at the paper.

Q took the pen and pressed it into James’ hand. “You can do it,” he coaxed, “I know you can. Start writing.”

The first _I will listen_ was the hardest blow to James’ ego. He didn’t notice how deeply he was pouting until he reached around the tenth. He schooled his face. By the fiftieth or so, his hand began to cramp. He rubbed his palm and flexed his wrist before he could continue. Q watched him work in silence. James didn’t know whether he was thankful for the quiet or more embarrassed by it. It could have meant Q was taking in everything he could to blackmail him. Or he was going to write up a report about how he wasn’t to be let back into the field.

His hand throbbed as he finished the last sentence.

Q took the papers and folded them up. The pen was deposited back in the drawer.

“Now that unpleasantness is over with, let’s go through the paperwork. Shall we?” Q returned to the chair. James glared down at the ground.

“You’re a bit of a brat, James. But I think we both knew this.” James did not react. “But I’m not going to tolerate this behavior. What you did was unacceptable. You could have hurt yourself or someone else. That’s not fair to anyone in this building.”

James grunted.

“I really wanted to try to introduce you to some other little ones today. But I don’t think you’re ready for that. In fact, I don’t think you were even ready to come here. If I oversaw your situation, I would have recommended a house call.” Q sighed and flipped through his clipboard. M always wanted what was best for his agents, to his credit. But he wasn’t a specialist in little psychology, either. Not that Q was in any sense, but he’d been volunteering for long enough to know how most littles worked.

“You had a rough childhood, James. All we want to do is give you a new one, a better one. I think you deserve that much. Don’t you?” By all accounts, James was supposed to be a neutral or a caregiver. He had the genetic disposition and the build for it. It wasn’t unknown for someone’s category to flip flop or revert to neutral, but it wasn’t easy to do.

James grunted.

“James.”

He looked up. Q left the seat to kneel in front of him.

“It’s been a very long time since you’ve gave in and been small. I know it gets hard to go back after being big for so long. But it’s good for you. You know it is. And if you do this, you won’t have to do it again for a while. Not if you don’t want to. You just want to get back in the field, right?”

James nodded. God, he wanted that more than anything in the world. No more thinking about paperwork or his achy hand. No more sitting in waiting rooms. All action and excitement and everything in between that was _not fit for children._

Q’s lips allowed just a wisp of a smile. “Let go. I have you. I won’t let anything happen to you. It’s alright.”

James pulled his knees in and hugged them tightly to his chest. He was silent. Q edged forward and laid his hand on James’ shoulder. He didn’t immediately move away. He rubbed his back in small circles. “I’m here.”

James whined. He pulled his fingers through his hair and gripped.

“No, no,” Q tutted, pulling away James’ hands. “No hurting, James. Not here.” James was so much stronger than him, but he eased under Q’s gentle pressure. Q pulled him into his chest and James didn’t resist.

The tears came. James wasn’t sure when they started, but Q held him securely. They rocked back and forth slowly. Q hummed.

“I’ve got you, James,” he soothed. “I’ve got you. You’re safe here, darling. I promise.”

James’ fingers tried to snake their way back into his hair and Q pushed them away again. “No,” James mumbled into his chest, “no, nowhere’s safe. Nowhere.”

Q’s eyebrows furrowed together. “What makes you say that?”

“Everyone dies. If I like them, they’ll die. I know they will. It happens no matter what.”

“Oh, James…” Q pat his back. “You can’t have a life if you’re always scared.”

James didn’t respond.

Somewhere in the room, a timer went off. Session over. James rose and left the room without so much as goodbye. The door slammed behind him. All Q could do was watch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i was sittin on this for a while, got tired of writing, then decided to publish

To say M was displeased with his behavior would have been to say Pompei was a sparkler.

James tuned him out after the first thirty seconds of shouting. He stared at him blankly and waited for it to end.

 

As the tirade continued, he looked down at his nails. Not his normal perfect manicure. James needed to trim them. Add a clear coat. No respectable field agent could go out with chipped or uneven nails. Couldn’t take a mark to bed if any part of you was unattractive.

 

 _Like being a little_.

 

James grimaced.

 

“What’s so distasteful, Bond? Have something you’d like to share?”

 

James raised his head. “No, sir.”

 

“Then you’ll go to Q’s office without complaints, I assume.”

 

James bristled. “I’m sorry?”

 

“Now, Bond.”

 

James tilted his chin upwards and rose. He buttoned his suit jacket. “Sir,” he said as goodbye and left.

 

His heels clicked against the tile floor as he walked. James had peeked at his file as M raved- _grounded until further notice_ stuck out to him in a way that stung harshly, like rain during a cold, windy day. Lives needed to be saved and he couldn’t do that if someone was trying to make him into something he wasn’t. Something that he shouldn’t _be_.

 

As he rounded the corner to Q’s office, he half considered turning tail and leaving. No cooing, no telling off.

 

But then that would leave him right where he started. No way back in the field and no access to anything higher level than the daily newspaper.

 

James opened the door without any semblance of charm that began their interaction the day before.

 

Q’s office was unlike most of the offices in MI6. With all the computer work he had to do, it was surrounded with screens and parts littered what little desk space there was. Diagrams he didn’t fully understand were stacked next to laptops teetering precariously to the right. He was surprised there weren’t any lego under his feet. The Quartermaster stared at a laptop on his desk. He sat ramrod straight, not bothering to acknowledge the agent in his territory.

 

“Q,” he greeted, not impolite.

 

“Have you eaten today, 007?”

 

James blinked, off guard. He took a moment to recover himself and eyed Q up and down. “Are you sure this isn’t the point where you strap me down and turn me into a child.”

 

Q sighed through his nose and nudged his laptop to the side. He finally turned in his chair to look at James. “Do you really think that would benefit the either of us? Even if it did, I wouldn’t want to deal with the fallout. I don’t know if you’ve _noticed,_ but you’re quite a bit larger than I am.”

 

James huffed a laugh. It was comforting to know he could push Q off, break his arms, then slam his face in the desk if he decided to. No one was going to force him to do anything. Caregiver-class or otherwise.

 

“You can answer the question, Bond. I promise it’s only a question.”

 

James scoffed. Nothing was ever _only_ a question.

 

“If I say that I have, then I’m lying. If I say I haven’t, then I’m in desperate need of coddling.”

 

“James,” Q said quietly, but firmly. A fresh pang of loathing shot through James’ gut as he glanced up to the commanding tone. He tried to pass it off as irritation- perhaps he was lost in his thoughts, whatever Q would see. But Q’s eyes softened in a way he’d seen more than once.

 

“I don’t want your pity,” he said sharply. “Don’t try to pass that on me.”

 

Q pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a slow breath. “ _Concern_ , James. Not pity.” He looked back up at the field agent. “Would you like to try this again?”

 

“No, I would like to leave here as soon as bloody possible. So, no, I would not like to _try this again_ ,” he said with a ridiculous impression of Q, high pitched and ridiculously posh.

 

His anger lasted only a moment before he realized how _maturely_ he acted. His face blanched. James turned on his heel. As his hand touched the knob to leave, he felt a mechanism switch the lock in place. His shoulders drooped and he rested his forehead against the unyielding wood. He sighed.

 

“Open the door, Q,” he said, just above a murmur.

 

“Sit down.”

 

“Open the door, _please_.”

 

“Sit down, James.”

 

He’d asked. He’d asked politely. James grit his teeth.

 

“Open the bloody door, Q, or I’m going to break it down.”

 

“No, James, you’re not. You’re going to sit down. And then you’re going to write lines.”

 

James took a step back and threw his shoulder into the door. He backed away and held his shoulder with a hand, cursing under his breath. Damn MI6’s security. He should have bloody well known. Wooden doors could pop right down with enough force. Wooden doors with a metal core gave a sore shoulder.

 

Q was by his side and James cursed himself for not noticing.

 

“Are you hurt?” Q asked, so tender.

 

“I’ve taken bullets in the field, Quartermaster,” he said curtly. “I think I can handle a little bruise. Oh, unless you’d like to kiss it better while I weep at your feet?”

 

“Don’t be smart, James. Come on, big boy, let’s sit down.”

 

James shoved him away. “Don’t you call me that. I am old enough to be your _father_.”

 

Q fought for his composure. “Age has nothing to do with needs, James. It’s biological. I can’t help it any more than you can.”

 

“If that’s the case, then you will take any biological compulsion and throw it far, far away,” he snapped.

 

“James, it’s not _healthy!_ If we could keep sending you on your merry way, we would. But do you know the risks? Hm?”

 

“If I cared about dying early, then I _really_ think I chose the wrong profession.”

 

Q snapped. “We need someone who won’t drop dead from a heart attack in the middle of a mission! Someone who knows how to turn _off_. If you’re too focused on staying on all the time, how can we trust you to keep things secret? What if you drop? Any number of terrorists we send you after could pump you full of drugs, force you down, and make you divulge whatever the hell they wanted because you’re too desperate for a cuddle!”

 

James stared, mouth ajar. His face morphed into a sneer. “I’m so glad you have trust in me, Quartermaster.”

 

“James,” Q started, then stopped. He took a deep breath. “People care about you. don’t like to see you suffering like this, but it’s a security risk.”

 

“I’ve been keeping this under wraps for nearly as long as you’ve been alive.”

 

“I- James, how old do you think I _am_?”

 

“Twenties. Thirties, if you’ve got a baby face.”

 

“I’m thirty-two!” he spouted indignantly.

 

“Oh, _now_ who’s immature?”

 

“I’m allowed to have a personality beyond my genetic disposition!”

 

“But _I’m_ not?”

 

“I’m not the one putting myself at risk, James!” Q took a breath. “Now. Please. Sit down. We can have a chat.”

 

“I don’t want to.”

 

“Not about what you want, it’s about what we must. Down, James.”

 

“Don’t talk to me like a dog,” he spat as he slid his back down the door. The defeat was humiliating. At least Q chose not to gloat.

 

“If that’s what gets you to react, then so be it.” Q pawed through some files in his desk drawer. He flicked through a few pages and hummed to himself. "When's the last time you dropped?" he asked as he clicked a pen and began to scribble on the paperwork in front of him.

 

Wordlessly, he passed James an apple.

 

James eyed the apple like a handwritten insult. "Ten years ago."

 

"Was this person your caretaker?"

 

"Not for very long."

 

"Name?"

 

"Does it matter? She's long dead."

 

"Name, please."

 

He ran a hand down his face. "Lynd. Vesper Lynd."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment or i die 
> 
> also timelines dont exist lmao vesper happened ten years ago bc i said so


	3. interlude

The Italian breeze filtered through the hotel windows and the gentle sunlight glided down onto the floor. James lay in bed, curled tight on himself.

“Mummy?”

“Mummy’s coming, big boy. Don’t get your pants in a twist.”

Vesper pressed a sippy cup in James’ eager hands and planted a kiss to the crown of his head. The juice was sweet on James’ tongue before Vesper’s lips left his skin. She tweaked his nose and he grinned around the spout.

“I’ve got to run some errands, love. You stay here and be good, mm?”

James nodded.

She wasn’t gone for ten minutes before the call from M came. Money gone. Be a good dog and fetch.

Going from child to Bond gave him whiplash. Made him sluggish, inaccurate, made his brain worth nothing more than a dead slug. He should have been faster. Should have noticed the elevator. Should have kicked harder. Should have run after her sooner. Should have never gone on the bloody mission in the first place.

It wasn’t fair. Things were going well together. They had enough money to keep them comfortable for lifetimes. The sex was bloody fantastic.

And he let him shrink in safety.

When he stared over her corpse, he knew it could never happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did u know this would be sad because i didnt lmao


	4. Chapter 4

“Mommy was very, _very_ bad.” Silva tsked, shaking his head with a mocking pout.

The diction was not at all lost on James. His face was painfully schooled as much as he wanted to gut the man in front of him. Did he know? _M_ didn’t know. Those papers had been buried long before Vesper’s death and yet-

Silva’s fingers brushed over his chest, pushing his shirt back to expose The Scar. Most of them blended in together, but to his eye it stuck out like a shark in the waters. His first mark from friendly fire.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Silva cooed. “Did no one kiss it better?”

A humorless smirk tugged on James’ lips. “Many, many women had the pleasure.” He cocked his head to the side. “Jealous?”

Silva tilted James chin up with a finger. “Now, we both know that wasn’t what I meant, James.” He caressed his cheekbone with a thumb and tilted his head to the side. His eyes dug into his core. James wanted nothing more than to dig them out with his bare hands. “Won’t you be a good boy for me? I know you must be feeling antsy ever since Miss Lynd’s accident.” His smile was venom. He tutted.

“Poor boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what im doing but this train aint stoppin


	5. Chapter 5

Q took in a breath. “I see.” He tried to look composed, but it was much easier to hide one’s emotions over an intercom than from a spy trained to examine every bloody thing they could spot- James assumed.

“Just go on to the next question.”

Q nodded stiffly. He flipped through the paperwork.

James narrowed his eyes. There weren’t going to be any easier questions to ask. Q had to know. What was he-?

“When was the last time you drank or took recreational drugs?”

James maintained eye-contact but didn’t say a word.

“Within the last twenty-four hours, then?”

Silence.

“Right.” Q made a mark and James was quickly reminded of how much he missed his state-sponsored speed dating. “I haven’t forgotten about the lines, James. Hop to it,” he said and passed off clean sheets without taking his eyes off the paper.

James obeyed with a scowl. He took a pen out from the inside of his jacket and clicked it murderously.

_I’m not little._

_I’m not little._

_I’m not little._

_I’m not little._

The twin scratching at paper was almost soothing. James tried pretending he was studying for a test or writing because he was bored. Q’s questions swiftly broke that fantasy.

“Are you incontinent?” _No._

“Do you wear diapers for comfort?” _No._

“How often do you need naps?” _I don’t._

“Do you like bottles? Soothers?” _No._

“Do you have stuffed animals? Blankets? Any other object of attachment?” _No._

“Are you naughty simply for attention?” _No._

“Do you want to be spanked?” _No._

“When was the last time you slept for more than six hours at a time?” _Before I was a double-oh._

“Can you age up rapidly or do you need time to ease out of it?” _I’m an adult._

“How much of your training do you retain when you’re small?” _Enough_.

James nearly missed the tug of a smirk on Q’s lips. He glanced up as if bored. Two angry sheets of lines lay before him.

“So,” Q said slowly, “you do get small?”

James cocked his head to the side. “I do. Most especially when I have an insufferable twink right in front of me who can’t stand to think he’s wrong. You know, Q,” James stood, “the only reason why I haven’t slammed your _stupid_ head against your desk and left you bleeding and unconscious is to humor you. Did you know that?”

Q looked up at him coolly, then looked back down at the paper to make a mark.

“No, you do _not_ get to ignore me,” James growled, grabbing Q by the front of his shirt and yanking him forward. “Look at me.” Q glanced casually at the ceiling. “Look at me!” James jostled the quartermaster. No movement. “God damn it, Q, move your bloody eyes down and look at me!”

Q did. His eyes sliced through him at the same time as his words. “Tell me about your caregiver before Ms. Lynd, James. The only one on record. Trevelyan, I believe?”

James dropped Q. He staggered backwards. His feet didn’t work like he told them to and he landed hard on his arse.

_Why can’t you just be a good boy and die?_

His chest turned into a vice. Any air in his lungs turned to fire. His eyes couldn’t see and his mind couldn’t think. His thoughts were replaced with ricocheting sounds and flashes of pain.

Somewhere else, Q cursed loudly. His head went into a warm lap and hands carded through his hair. James’ breath came in a staccato.

-

Once his mind realized he was staring up at the boring, sterile ceiling of MI6 his breathing had evened. His throat felt like he’d swallowed nails. He pressed his fingertips to his cheeks and was more than humiliated to find them wet.

He sat up with a curse only to quickly regret it when his head swum.

“Easy, James, darling. Take deep and slow breaths for me, please.”

James slapped away the hand on his shoulder. “Piss off.” His voice broke and he stood quickly, buttoning his suit jacket.

Q crossed his arms and looked up from the floor. “My feet are asleep from your fat head squishing my ankles. The least you could do is give me the explanation.”

“No, Q,” he said as he fussed over his hair in the nearest reflective surface, “the least I can do is not _kill_ you after seeing that. So consider yourself lucky.”

“James…” Q said with a sigh. “James, please. This isn’t sustainable. You have to let yourself go down.”

“I don’t have to let myself do anything. Is the door unlocked.”

“You just had a panic attack, why would I _unlock_ -?”

“Because you’re afraid something would happen, and you’d need to call medical. Need a way for them to get in, don’t you.” He turned the knob- unlocked.

With a deep breath, Q stood. “James,” he said firmly. When that didn’t immediately illicit a response, he spoke again, voice stronger. “James, get back here right now or Daddy’s going to be very upset.”

James froze. Slowly, he took his gun out of his holster on his side. He aimed it evenly to Q’s head, features blank.

“I am going to give you seven seconds to reconsider your words. Seven.”

“James.”

“Six.”

“Gun down. For Daddy.”

James sneered. “Five.”

Q took a step forward. “Darling, Daddy knows you’re very tired. How long’s it been since my big boy had a rest, hm?”

For the second time in almost as many minutes, hot _humiliating_ tears burned in his eyes.

“ _Four_.”

“If that gun stays up, I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

“Take your words _back_. Three.”

Q put one hand over James’ on the gun and felt his hand tremor. “James.”

“Two!”

“Go on, then. Shoot me. Is that what you want?”

The gun dropped to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what im doing but if i dont get comments i die   
> thank u for those who comment for contributing to my life force


	6. Chapter 6

First the clatter of metal against tile, then the dull thump of knees against floor. James would have bruises in the morning. Purple, green, and brown mottled skin.  
Purple: the color of Alec’s “emergency” bag. Purple dummies, purple sippy cups, purple bottles, purple stuffed animals.  
Green: the color of Vesper’s eyes. So close and never one to judge.  
Brown: the color of the dirt his body should have been buried in so many years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao y'all THOUGHT you'd get a real chapter, didn't ya
> 
> [it's cookin, i promise]


	7. alec

“James, get your arse down from the counter right now.”

“Daddy!” James whined, stamping his feet on the once clean granite.

“Daddy is cooking. And daddy can’t cook for naughty little boys if they don’t behave.” Alec put aside the pan and yanked James forward by his belt. When he lost his balance, he didn’t let him fall gracelessly to the ground. He gathered him in his arms and set him down with a loud smack on the arm.  
James held the offending appendage to his chest with a pout. “Daddy…”

“You know better than that. Corner.” When James didn’t move, Alec snapped his finger towards the Naughty Corner and snarled, “Now.”

James dragged his feet and plopped his bum down into the chair, sticking his nose to the wall. “Daddy, that hurt.”

Alec returned to stirring the vegetables at the stove. “No, it didn’t. You’ve had plenty worse. Don’t start sniveling about it or you won’t get any pudding.”

The sniveling began at full force.

-

“For England, James?”

“For England.”

-

When Alec died the first time, James’ heart entangled in tar. Thick and black. No way in or out. Nothing had the same taste. The only time he could think he felt alive was with a gun in his hand or a woman on his cock.

-

The Word was settled on his tongue the next time he saw Alec. His insides begged for him to settle at his feet and weep until he deigned James a good enough boy for a cuddle.

The Word, he told himself, would never come out of him ever again.

“Why can’t you be a good boy and die?” Alec asked.

The Word burned his mouth like acid when he posed a question of his own.

-

“For England, James?” Alec had a smirk even a shark couldn’t beat .

“No. For me.” James’ face was stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tl;dr alec ain't that good of a daddy and james is Sad about it
> 
> this wasn't the chapter that i promised was cookin but uh good enough amirite ladies


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> walks into my own fic 6 months late with starbucks

The cold seeped through his expensive trousers and to his knees. Vaguely, he registered a gun muzzle on the back of his neck. Someone was speaking to him. They wrenched his hands behind his back.

Where did his gun go?

Q was speaking. His words were muddled.

James focused on the tile in front of him. He pictured little animals in the granite patterns. A giraffe and a penguin come to life, walking side by side. What a funny pair they make. Where are they going? How did they meet? Are they enemies? Will the giraffe kill the penguin, or will the penguin slit his long throat first?

 

“No. It's fine. He’s my little.”

James’ head wrenched up on its own accord.

“Quartermaster, _you_ -!”

“I know what I did. But I have this situation under control now. You may leave.”

“But you-“

“Go.”

The pressure on his shoulders eased. His arms dropped to his side and his posture drooped. This was it. No more saving the world, no more shoot outs, no more explosions. Nothing but high-chairs and coloring and playing pretend.

“James?”

Q knelt and rested a hand on his shoulders and James shoved him away with a snarl. “Haven’t you done enough?”

Q’s face hardened. “Would you rather be set for a court date for attempted assault with a deadly weapon? Lose your position permanently? No? Then you’re going to come with me.” He dragged James upwards. Less of Q’s strength and more of James’ surprise pulled him to his feet.

“No, I’m not." His feet moved of their own accord.

“That’s not my decision anymore. You’re unfit for field duty. We’re stuck with each other until you are.”

“No.”

Q was silent.

-

Five minutes into their car ride, James was trying to break open the window. Q kept his eyes on the road.

-

They walked into Q’s apartment without struggle. James kept his head high. He refused any more humiliation than he’d already endured.

He looked around the home as Q situated himself It wasn’t the cold, unfeeling flat he expected. It was a lived-in sort of messy. There was a dedicated cat corner because of _course_ there was. Not very many decorations, but when your job necessitated fifty plus hours of work a week it didn’t leave much time for interior decorating.

Q shut the door behind him. James’ hand itched for his gun. His eyes scanned the home for anything of use. Knife block in the kitchen. A classic. Vase on the kitchen table. Not a good weapon, but a decent distraction. Paperweights on the coffee table. Messy, but workable.

He grimaced. Not nearly enough if he wanted to make things quick.

“How much money do you want?”

Q stopped mid-taking off his shoes. “Sorry?”

“How much money will it take for you to get me back in the field?”

“I don’t want your money.” Q finished taking off his shoes. The cats came to greet the new person. James barely suppressed the urge to punt them through the window and instead grit his teeth.

“You’re in a very fragile place, James. You need time to relax. The longer you take to do this, the longer both of us will be out of the office. I know we don’t want that.”

“Since you don’t want that,” he bit out, “why are we wasting time? Why not tell M I’m _fine_?”

“Because you aren’t,” Q said. He scooped up a cat and rubbed under her chin. “I want you to get acquainted with the cats. This is Sandy. The other one is Butter. They’re very cuddly so long as you don’t yank on their tails or treat them roughly.”

James looked from the cats to Q distastefully.

“I have no expectations of you dropping quickly- the least we can do is get you comfortable in the new space. I’m going to do some work.” He set down Sandy. She meowed distastefully. “Be a good boy.”

Q walked into an office and locked the door behind him. James stood in the middle of the room with two cats staring up at him.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

They meowed.

-

There was no alcohol in the cabinets. No opioids, either. Nothing he could even _think_ about using to forget.

He wasn’t stupid enough to try to just walk out of the flat. So James went to the windows. Nothing special about them from the outside, but this was the Quartermaster’s home he was in. Q was many things, but he wasn’t stupid enough to have a place easy to break into. Or out of. James tried flicking the lock open, but that didn’t work even with force. He suspected technology like the palm reader on his gun.

His gun which was still laying in the middle of the floor in Q’s office.

James flopped miserably on the sofa. One of the cats jumped on his chest. Another settled between his ankles. He covered his face with his hands and groaned. The beginning of the end of his career and it’s as dramatic as an emptying tub.

He could go for mercenary work, though the idea of killing just anyone didn't appeal to his morals. Vigilantism sounded only exhausting. Something about constantly being on the run wasn't fun when you were running from former co-workers. 

He shut his eyes. At least the couch was comfortable.

-

Flames licked up his chest, closer and closer to his heart. Alec held a knife to his neck. The blade inched closer and closer. "Why can't you just be a good boy and die?"

-

James sat up with a jolt. His shirt stuck to his skin. He pealed off the sweaty fabric and threw it aside. As he caught his breath, he looked around the room. It was dark. No Q. He looked for a clock. The oven told him 1:15. 

 

He cursed and stood on shaky legs. He turned the sink on and splashed his face.

 

"He's dead. He's dead. He's dead," he muttered to himself.

 

The light to the kitchen flicked on. James jumped.

 

"Who's dead?"

 

James kicked himself for not listening. He knew better than this. He was a  _spy_. He gripped the counter top until his knuckles were white. He stared intently at the sink.

 

"You don't have to talk about it. But you do have to put a shirt on. And pick the old one up." Q wet a washcloth and rest it on the back of James' neck. He rubbed his back. "I'll get you some clothes. You aren't alone, James."

 

James felt his lip trembling. He sunk to his knees and pressed his forehead against the cabinet. He sobbed.

 

"You aren't alone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i wish there was more james bond nsap content  
> my brain: That means you have to make it.  
> me:  
> me: man i wish there was more james bond nsap content


End file.
